


Feathers

by Savrola



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal Death, Animals, Birds, Birdwatching, Childhood Trauma, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Soul-Searching, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savrola/pseuds/Savrola
Summary: From watching the birds, Felix has learned a lot.  But after the rebellion, he's lost a lot too.[Felix traumatized and soul-searching  Mild Sylvix at the end but mostly about Felix.  One mild animal death (due to normal cat behavior)]
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: the end is very mild Sylvix.
> 
> Warning: There is one bird that gets killed by a cat. If this disturbs you please don't read this.

Felix was never supposed to miss home the way he does.

It's a lot of things, in a lot of ways. Maybe part of it is the child inside of him that refuses to die, the innocent and small thing that clung to all things familiar for fear that they might fade away. As pathetic as that is, Felix wonders if it isn't entirely unreasonable. The meals, the scents, the riding trails for miles around the lake were all familiar, but strangely enough his heart aches too for the birds.

Since he was a boy wielding nothing more than a stick, Felix had fed them. First it was only a thrill, sneaking into the kitchen and feigning interest in whatever it was the head chef was making, only to secret away whatever looked like acceptable fare.

Later in his teenage years he realized that the bucket of nuts and seeds, which no one in his family ever had any taste for, was always placed just by the exit in the same place. Just for him.

Once his muscles were beyond use and he could no longer hold his stick he would sit beneath the tree in the courtyard, unwrap the basket and begin tossing out handfuls to the growing flock. He saw the males dance for females and thin summer feathers give way to wintry down. He saw them swoop and chirp at one another, never harming so long as everyone got a belly full.

And the day his house cat Fortuna ventured out of the east wing, he saw what a real fight -- what real _righteousness_ \-- was.

He heard the chicks crying first. 

In spite of her considerable belly and general laziness, Fortuna had made her way up into the arms of the oak tree that shaded the training grounds when he wasn't looking. Felix craned his neck back, pinching his eyes into a squint, just in time to see her scrambling desperately for the bow where the chicks were screaming.

Like a cavalry charge in a battle's last leg, their parents fell out of a sky as blue as their backs to tackle her with every ounce of their tiny bodies. This was no strut, no squabble over the last bit of seed. The mother bird, smaller, with her wing bent slightly askew from some old break, placed herself without hesitation between the open jaws of his housepet and her offspring. The father swooped in and out with all the courage and agility of a pegasus knight, attaching himself to Fortuna's side and driving his beak into her flesh.

She fell.

Felix was glad he was beneath her, arms outstretched, even though the first part of her that touched him was sharp claws -- with her entire body fluffed up Fortuna retreated back to their room in an orange and white streak.

He looked up, and the pair were calmly checking their young, ensuring all was well, before tucking in their feathers and settling in for the afternoon as if completely unaware of their own heroism. 

Heroism some knights would probably be jealous of.

There were many more species of birds at the monastery. The particularly colorful varieties did not venture as far north as Faerghus, he found in his readings, and those with the most melodic songs weren't even native, having been introduced by lady Rhea long ago.

There were also many more cats, he found -- not his lazy fat Fortuna, (who still spent most of her time before the fireplace at home if his father's letters were to be believed), but half-feral cats.

Cats with a stronger determination to hunt.

Of course he knew cats hunted birds, he wasn't a fool. But the first dead bird brought to him by a monastery cat still shook him.

Woken to its weak tweets and the cat's rumbled purring, he cursed himself for not taking the extra class in faith magic the professor had recommended.

"Is it even _helping_ ," he hissed under his breath. The bird was one he recognized, a regular patron of his stolen food with ruby feathers and a black beak. The cat meowed at him, as if asking for praise --

It was like the boar, the glee it took in killing for sport. The search for approval in his eyes as it presented him with something just struggling to cling to life, some _one_ he had sent hurtling down to Hel himself with a swing of his lance and a beastly smile. The disappointment when Felix recoiled, threw his pillow at the cat and screamed a curse at it, like he had then --

_("What have you done," Felix cried, sobbed like when they were children. And the very boy who used to hold him when he did, used to cry himself when he found the little baby birds fallen from their nests, scoffed._

_"I did what I had to, Felix. This is war."_

_Where had that boy gone off to, to die? Felix had never said farewell to him._

_Had the blond beast before him been the one to kill him, or did he simply watch him pass?)_

He held the shaking body between his palms (feather-light and so delicate) and remembered what Mercedes, in all her sisterly wisdom had told him: 

You have to close your eyes, Felix. Focus.

_Blue eyes, wide. Like he couldn't believe it either._

_Laughter. A woman screaming no, no please --_

He couldn't close his eyes.

For a few more moments the little bird bled onto his sheets and, finally, died.

Felix skipped morning classes that day. Somehow the others knew not to ask when he showed up after lunch -- and asked the professor to exclude him from all white magic lectures in the future.

He was never meant to be a healer, anyway.

\--

Two days later Felix was finished asking himself questions about the nature of things. Besides, if anyone in the school found out that he -- one of the few among their ranks who had actually tasted battle (however briefly) -- had cried over a bird and buried it in the greenhouse, he would have to quit school entirely. It was better not to dwell; this, his brother's death had taught him.

There was something different about it, though. Facing someone on the battlefield was facing them as an equal; each of you got the same chances in life to practice and hone your skills, the same opportunity to struggle to the top. If you didn't give it your all, didn't keep your sword in good condition, didn't spend enough time in the training grounds, well. You ended up in a body pile or a grave -- and his brother was lucky enough to get the latter after he'd failed.

It wasn't right. But it was natural -- as natural as a hawk eating a fish. Whether you had the talons or the fins in that scenario were up to you.

He keeps stretching until his muscles burn, the ache promising a good workout and thus, an escape. Practicing his sword swing in the air, Felix takes his stance and holds it as if allowing some invisible enemy to approach.

But then, a real enemy approaches.

"Hey, Felix! I knew I'd find you here."

"What do you want, Sylvain?"

Of all the next moves he could take, Sylvain grabs a training lance from the rack and tests its weight in his hand. "Maybe I just came to train. Never occurred to you, huh?"

"Don't _wink_ at me," Felix holds his stance. "And no, it didn't, because I never see you here."

"Maybe I only come here at night," a practice jab, the force of which causes the air impressively to whistle, "After dinner when everyone's gone to bed."

"I don't know what you think you can gain by making everyone think you're weaker than you really are. But whatever it is, it's bullshit. Cut it out."

Sylvain shrugs. "Hey, I never asked you to understand. But if you want to fight, we can fight."

Just then, a chirping call rings out from the sky. The training grounds at Garreg Mach, unlike his home, have no tree to disguise its new arrivals; yet through the sun's white rays Felix can't see the wings of a pegasus bird until it's in the sand and looking at him expectantly.

Another chirruping cry, sounding almost like a tiny horse's neigh. Across the white chalk halfway line, Sylvain bursts into laughter. "Well, I guess we're not supposed to fight, huh?"

Black eyes on him, like beads shining with the reflection of clouds overhead. Felix tosses his practice sword down to the ground where it lands with a rattle --

_Go away. That's only for when we're alone, you understand?_

The bird cocks its head as if it _might_ understand, politely dipping its beak over its shoulder to preen and wait for him to give up the food. "Stupid thing," Felix scoffs. "Go on. Get lost."

Patience. A chirp.

And then out of nowhere, one of the monastery cats leaps from the shadows, still bearing its camouflage in silky black fur as it sweeps up the bird in its jaws.

Felix's heart freezes.

The tiny panther stops halfway on its belly when Sylvain tuts at it, dropping his lance -- even with the tiny creature flapping in its jaws it stares him down, waits for his approach. Once he's in range it becomes a housepet, leaning itself wholeheartedly into the side of his boot.

With one hand on the underside of the cat's jaws and the other palm up and open, Sylvain pinches either of the cat's cheeks and it spits up its prize. "Yeah yeah, good boy," it earns a pat on the butt and a sigh for its trouble, a payment it takes as sufficient before sauntering away in the direction of the stables.

The pride of a villain, chest puffed out leaving only destruction in its wake, it slips out the door and vanishes again into shadow --

"Hey Felix, you any good with healing magic?"

Felix jumps a little. "What?"

Eyes scrunched shut like a man in prayer, Sylvain's hands are beaming, bathing the white feathers in pulsing light. "C'mon. Help me."

One step. Two steps. Over his sword he leaps and runs to Sylvain's side, remembering Mercedes' words:

You have to close your eyes, Felix. Focus.

Sylvain's thumbs cross above the tiny cage he'd made with his fingers, the fluttering inside of it sending little puffs of air out of every crevice. Felix puts a hand on top, inhales and closes his eyes.

 _Fear. The screams of men. Dimitri chasing them as they ran, slaughtering them even as his retainer called after him that the battle was won, the rebellion crushed. Who was he, where was Dimitri, the warm scent of home, everything he'd ever loved suddenly fell out from under him_.

"Just focus," Sylvain murmurs.

He feels pain. The memories of fangs buried as deep in his chest as daggers, like he'd been stabbed a dozen times over. Is he feeling the pain of the pegasus bird?

It's so hard to breathe.

Panic. His heart pounds in his chest faster than any hoof or drumbeat. The scent comes, of Sylvain's hands, surrounds him: warm, a little salty, a hint of cologne.

The ache in his chest begins to melt. Little drips leave him at first, like the last of winter's snow giving way to spring, and then it becomes a rush, an avalanche, the two of them together filling his chest with heat and sucking away the pain --

Felix yanks his hand back. In one open palm, the bird sits back on its haunches and looks around in shared confusion.

And then, it's gone.

When he looks up there is no sign of it, no way to tell if it had melted into the clouds or simply vanished. He cranes his neck back so far he can't help but fall from kneeling onto his ass.

Sylvain smiles at him. "Hey, thanks. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Yeah, it was -- nothing."

As if he might see the little creature again, Sylvain looks up too. "I have no idea why they do that," he sighs, "The cats get fed every time we do, down at the dining hall."

Felix still wrestles with the reality of it himself, so he has no answers to give. "Some just kill for sport I guess. Because they're --"

He stops. The word doesn't want to come, and he doesn't want to speak it, because he realizes quickly that he isn't talking about cats and birds any more.

"They're not _evil_ , Felix," Sylvain says sternly. He may not be talking about animals either. "They don't know anything else. I feel sorry for them, that they get so wrapped up in it."

Sorry?

There's nothing worth being sorry for in Dimitri, especially when so much had already been sacrificed just to get him where he was.

He snaps out of it just as more birds begin to circle above them; deciding that Sylvain's presence was a risk worth taking they settle before him, pecking around in the sands.

From his pocket Sylvain produces a pair of wheat rolls, laden heavy with seeds on top. Felix can't help but watch his fingers move, pinch off the sides and send pieces flying into the flock. Their guests are content with this. One black striped bird, a species he doesn't recognize, perches on the handle of his discarded sword and swallows a mouthful.

"You know Felix, the way I see it? There are cat homes and there are bird homes." 

Felix frowns. "What, the wooden ones?"

"No," the last bit of bread is gone, and Sylvain's eyes are half-lidded, lost in thought somewhere far away. "I mean, our houses. I've been to a lot of them over the years, you know? Visiting family, meeting potential wives, attending balls. And there's always more of one, or the other." his eyes are moving, seeing things unseen. "There's always cats, of course. But either they can keep them under control so the birds stick around, or…"

A rustle in the corners of the overhang sends the flock scattering, becoming swiftly smaller shapes in the sky until they are completely gone and the two humans are completely alone. The Goddess must want to help Sylvain with his timing, for once -- even he seems a little shocked.

The source of the birds' fright, a gray cat with a white belly and white feet, struts from beneath a rack of axes and goes to greet them. Sylvain scritches beneath its chin.

Felix supposes he isn't wrong; aside from Fortuna's one attempt at an adventure and the very occasional attack the stable cats pulled off, the Fraldarius manor always manages to be filled with birdsong.

Or, it was when he left. Things seem to have a habit of changing when his back is turned -- first, his brother. Then, Dimitri. And now even the playboy Sylvain was becoming something other, something…

Leaning back with his hands in the sand, Sylvain lets his head loll back so he can stare at the clouds. "We don't have any birds back home," he murmurs, "My father said they're a nuisance." Felix is still plopped on his ass like some idiot who'd lost a duel, wide-eyed and staring at his old friend like he'd said something groundbreaking. "But I think when I become Margrave, I want it to be a bird manor, you know?"

A bird manor. A place where Felix's vicious beast of a cat could take out her energy on her toys and his bedposts, and he always had a singing flock to greet him when training was through. _Yes, that --_

"Hey." Sylvain is up, holding out his hand. "You wanna go to the dining hall with me?"

Felix takes the offer, pauses just for an instant when he feels the warmth still radiating off of Sylvain's palm from the magic, and stands. "Yeah. Sure."

They get to the door together and Sylvain opens it for him; he steps over the threshold and feels a hand on his back, and the ache in his chest is slightly -- just a little -- lessened.

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter is [@LadySavrola](https://mobile.twitter.com/LadySavrola)  
> Please consider leaving a comment or kudo!


End file.
